Chapter 45
Memories became my sanctuary. I’d dive into them for the pleasure they gave me. I’d flee to them to hide from all the pain I couldn’t cope with. I liked to replay the sweet moments and live through them over and over like they were real, refusing to acknowledge my delusions.
Since that morning, I’d been replaying the memories of Bell’s death like a vinyl record with a horror movie soundtrack.
I had to remember her movements, words, facial expressions, the color of her clothes and the weather.
I closed my eyes and remembered everything that happened seconds before the disaster in detail.
I remembered the knife slicing into Mortimer’s body like butter.
It was making me nauseous.
I felt fear. I remembered how adrenaline, pain and fear rose up against me.
I swallowed hard at the memories.
I was a murderer. The death of Roosevelt, Mortimer, Bell and my mom was my fault.
I was so selfish. The most selfish creature on the planet.
I took Bell’s hand and led her to her death. She didn’t want to run. She knew she wouldn’t make it out. She believed it, and I changed her mind.
I was so devastated by my own grief, I didn’t even think of dad’s life. I should be on my knees before Eric, praising him for sparing dad’s life .
I had no excuse for myself. I was detestable. I made myself sick. I hated myself.
I threw the blanket to the side.
I was mad. I wanted to let my anger out. I wanted to hurt myself.
I rushed about the room, trying to find something useful. I wanted to punch myself. I wanted someone to punch me. I needed to punish myself. I craved this pain.
When I couldn’t find anything, I fell to the floor and began banging my head on it, screaming.
I felt my heart rise from the ashes, beating wildly. I felt alive again.
The stormy emotions began to subside, replaced by the pain in my head.
The door opened and I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
I heard Eric’s steps. His persistent scent preceded him.
He picked me up from the floor and took me to the bed.
He pulled the covers over me and went to the closet.
I opened my eyes to see him wearing a black long sleeve shirt and those same blue checkered pants.
I wasn’t used to seeing him in home wear. I didn’t think he even had any.
I looked up and met his eyes. He got in bed, not covering himself with a blanket.
I turned to face him.
“It isn’t night yet.”
“I know.”
“Are you sleepy?”
“No.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Why are you in bed, then?”
“I can’t lie down in my own bed?”
A chuckle escaped my throat .
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re so short-fused. Always a moment away from blowing up.”
“So are you.”
“That’s not true.”
I turned away from him.
Then turned back.
“It is true.”
I saw a smile tug at his lips.
And all was quiet once again.
It was so comfortable I didn’t want to break it. The aftertaste of our exchange felt like a stroke of a feather on bare skin.
“We’ll never be equals, but we’re alike. Right?”
I turned to look at him.
The corners of his lips lifted.
“Funny you should say that.”
“Why?”
He slowly dragged his gaze away from the painting.
“Because you can’t stand me.”
“As if you can’t say the same about me.”
“You’re constantly pushing my buttons.”
“I thought it was your job.”
He smiled.
I was admiring his smile. I liked that it tugged at my idle feelings.
“You’re very lucky to have me, you know.”
His smile grew wider.
“Look how many colors I added to your life. I’ve definitely spruced up your black vibe.”
“My what?”
“You are a fan of black, aren’t you?”
He laughed so loudly it made me smile, too.
His laugh was deep and velvety.
“I like your laugh. ”
I felt stupid saying that.
Why did I say it?
“And my smell.”
“Your smell?”
A sharp wave of heat washed over my body.
“I wasn’t complimenting you. I was just trying to create a friendly environment, okay?”
“Okay. And I like your hair.”
My heart felt like it was being wound up. It was thumping faster than usual.
I turned to the painting.
“You’re flirting with me.”
“You started it.”
I turned towards him.
“I told you, I wasn’t flirting.”
“You are flirting.”
I threw back the covers and, covering the small distance between us, sat down on his lap.
“That’s flirting.”
My smile quickly faded as I realized what I had done.
I tried to pull back, but his hands grabbed my waist, holding me in place.
His face got serious.
“I... I can’t,” I whispered, staring at his black long sleeve.
“Then we won’t,” he whispered back.
His hands slid from my waist to my hips.
They were so warm, I could feel the heat radiating from them through the fabric of my cotton pants.
I swallowed down the tension.
“You’re the only one I have left. The only one who understands.”
He gently took my chin and lifted it to make our eyes meet.
His bottomless eyes looked at me fondly .
He pulled his hand away and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers slid along the strand, releasing it at the very end.
“Do you feel anything?”
I looked back down at his shirt.
“You already know,” I whispered, running my fingers along the folds of his long sleeve.
“No. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Sometimes.”
I looked up at him.
“Do you feel anything now?”
I looked down and kept running my fingers over one of the folds.
“Yes.”
A weak smile found its way to my lips.
I picked another fold and began running my hands over it, straightening it to match the size of the first one.
“Don’t ask me the next question.”
“Was I going to?”
I lifted my gaze to give him a slightly judgmental look.
“You want to know, but I don’t want to answer.”
“I already know, so I don’t need your answer.”
My pulse was ringing in my ears.
“And I don’t know your answer,” I whispered.
He was about to say it, but I covered his mouth with my hand.
“I don’t want to know.”
His left hand gently took mine and kissed my palm, not looking away from my eyes even for a moment.
I lay down on his chest.
The beating of his heart brought me tranquility, like the sweeps of ocean tides. The heat of his body was as warm as the rays of morning sun. And his scent embraced me, giving me the feeling of safety .
“Don’t ask me any more questions. I’m tired.”
His right hand stroked my head until I fell asleep.
I woke up feeling too hot.
I realized that I was lying on the side while Eric held me close.
I kicked the covers off and laid my head on the pillow.
He used to instill so much fear in me that I thought it’d do me in eventually.
I felt like he could destroy me with a single glare.
Looking back, I realized how far we’d come. How our relationship had been altered not only by the passage of time, but also by the hardships we’d overcome together.
Had I forgiven him? No.
Did I hate him? I didn’t know.
It got hard for me to answer any questions.
I could wake up and regret doing it. And then I could laugh and act like it never happened two hours later.
My brain stopped working. I followed routine patterns of behavior.
I no longer felt fear, it gave way to suspicion.
I no longer trusted myself, and that feeling wouldn’t go away. It’s like I’d let myself down. It’s like I was doing it over and over again. Day after day.
And I had no idea what to do about it and whether anything had to be done at all.
I lived in uncertainty and couldn’t tell when it was about to get easier for me, or when life was ready to push me deeper into a hole.
I had no support. I’d fall down and struggle to get back up.
And it’d keep going day after day.